He forgot again. Not like I expected him to remember.
I think he remembers but chooses to pretend he doesn't.
I can see him though. On this day, every year, looking sad when he thinks I'm not there.
Sometimes, he holds her picture, sometimes he cries, sometimes he just sits on the couch looking lost. When I found out, Dean told me it wasn't my fault. I didn't ask to be born.
But it is my fault.
It will always be my fault.
Fifteen years ago, today, my brother and I were born. He came first, but there was something wrong with him, not enough oxygen they said. They couldn't get the umbilical cord unwrapped in time...he didn't make it.
While they were trying to save a lost cause, they barely noticed the little girl, screaming and covered in an unusual amount of blood. Something had gone wrong, my mother bled out before they could save her and that left me...just me. Screaming and crying in the doctor's arms. My eyes slammed shut to the world. He handed me to my father and I heard his voice for the first time; shaking with the tears he was trying to hold back, but calm, just the same.
"Shh, shh, sweet heart, daddy's here. It's okay now." He whispered and I stopped crying but my eyes remained shut.
"Sam, she's beautiful." Dean said. "Has she opened her eyes yet?" and I did. That was the first time my father saw my eyes, my horrible mismatched eyes. The right one, a cold mixture of gray and blue like the sea during a storm. A merciless churning mass of blue and white and gray. The left eye, a burning green and golden flame. Like a meadow set on fire and the summer sun burning behind it.
I go to my room and pretend I don't see my father. Every year he just sits there and mourns my mother, who died before her time, and my brother, who never even stood a chance. When he mourns their deaths, I blame myself. My brother died because the cord wrapped around his neck and my mother died because she gave birth to two babies within the span of a few minutes.
If I had never been born, the doctor's would have noticed the cord, saved my brother, and my mother wouldn't have bled out.
Reaching under my bed, I grasp a small shoe box with a length of string wrapped around it. I grip it under one arm and climb out my window, onto the roof.
The sky is clear, speckled with rural Kansas stars and lit by a Cheshire cat smile. I set the box on the roof next to me and open it. A cherry coke, a birthday themed paper plate with matching napkin, a cupcake with blue icing, a candle, and a box of matches.
Just like every year, I take out the plate and napkin first, followed by the cherry coke. I carefully place a candle into the cupcake and place it on the plate. I light the match and candle and watch the wax melt a little before beginning.
"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Harley, happy birthday to me." I sing quietly before blowing out the candle. I watch the thin trail of smoke drift up to the stars. I take a bite of the cupcake. Every year since I was eight, I walk to the bakery down the street and buy a chocolate cupcake with light blue icing. Then I walk to the supermarket and buy a single can of Cherry Coca-cola. Every year, I climb onto the roof, sing to myself, and eat a cupcake washed down with cherry coke by myself.
I don't take a second bite of the cupcake and I can't bring myself to drink the coke. Every year, the cupcake and coke ritual felt good but this year, everything tastes sour. Fifteen years to the day that I lost my brother and mother within the span of minutes.
Now it's just me and Dad...no. Saying, me and Dad or dad and I, implies that we are a family. We're not. There's me and there's him. There's Dean and Lisa and Ben and Mary but that's different. Dean is my Uncle and Ben's grown up now. Mary doesn't mind me but she's busy all the time with friends and school and her various boyfriends. She takes me shopping or to the movies sometimes when she knows something's bothering me. She never asks me what's bugging me and I like that because I wouldn't talk about it anyway.
Dad and I live with Dean, Lisa, and Mary, which the kids at school think is weird but it doesn't bother me. Having Dean around is an adventure by itself and a big house makes it easy to disappear for a while without being noticed. I secretly think that if Dad and I were on our own, we'd be eating Chinese take-out and pizza every night. That's okay but I like Lisa's cooking more than cold pizza. Plus, if I was alone with Dad every year on my birthday...well, I don't think I'd be living with Dad anymore.
Voices lift through an open window and I recognize Lisa and Dean. I shift to my hands and knees and crawl towards the other end of the house. In the middle of the second floor is Dean and Lisa's room. I can hear them talking about me.
"I think he forgot again." Lisa says and I hear Dean pacing.
"He didn't forget, he never does."
"I mean about Harley. Every year he does this. Think about her for a second, Dean. I now you care about Sam but she's your niece. Every year, her father sits on the couch and cries over the woman and son he lost but he doesn't look at what he's got. How must she feel?"
"Forgotten." I whisper as Dean says it below me. "I'll talk to him." He says and I hear the door close behind him as he goes to Dad's room. I crawl over the roof towards the end of the house where Dad's room is.
"Sam?" Dean says, the door creaks a little as he opens it.
"Yeah?" Dad replies, solemnly.
"How are you?" Dean asks, I can almost picture it. Dad will be lying on his back in bed, holding a picture of Mom. Dean will be standing in front of the closed door with his arms crossed.
"How do you think I am, Dean?" Dad snaps.
"I think, you're acting like a brat." Dean says calmly. The bed squeaks a little as Dad sits up.
"Do you want to explain that position?" He asks.
"You met Jackie at a party and she got pregnant because you two got it on drunk. When you found out, you promised to take care of her. You started to fall in love with her and then she died giving birth. You lost your son and I know you were going to marry Jackie. I know that sucks but you can't keep ignoring your daughter like this."
"I don't ignore her." Dad snaps, I roll my eyes.
"Really? What's today?" Dean asks, annoyed.
"The day my girlfriend died giving birth to my son." Sam snaps again. There's a slap, as Dean's hand hits Dad's face, and a thud, as Dad's head hits the ground.
"Try again, dumbass." Dean snaps at him.
"It's her birthday."
"How old is she?" Dean demands.
"Fifteen." Sam says as though he's only just realizing he has a teenager on his hands.
"No shit, Sherlock! You have never taken an interest in her and I'm honestly surprised she hasn't tried to run away yet."
"I take an interest in her!"
"Really? What grade is she in?"
"She just finished ninth." Sam says, I feel my muscles tense up.
"Sam, she graduated in June. You can't even remember that your own daughter was smart enough to graduate three years early?!" Dean shouts.
"I'm sorry!"
"Don't tell that to me. Tell that to her. If you haven't noticed, she takes care of herself. She doesn't need Lisa and me to take care of her even though we do. If Harley heard this…I don't know what she'd do and I don't want to find out." The door slams behind him; I crawl back over the roof and back into my bedroom.
I can't stay here.
I just can't.